


burning borrowed flame

by timorous_scribe



Category: Glee
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Mutual Masturbation, Semi-Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timorous_scribe/pseuds/timorous_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Santana stay the night on Rachel’s couch. When Rachel and Brody get busy on the other side of the loft, the house-guests distract each other with a fantasy of their host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burning borrowed flame

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [thecrackshiplollipop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop/works) for the encouragement, as always. This is a PWP without much more point beyond that, had to be written to exorcise the Fapezberry flail from that Naked episode. 
> 
> .....don't judge me. ;)

“You have _got_ to be kidding me...” Quinn grumbles, violently rolling over on Rachel’s sofa and punching her pillow like _it's_ the source of her frustration, not the badly-suppressed chirping whimpers filtering through Rachel’s curtain-wall in the open loft. 

“Is she part _bird_ —seriously, what the fuck?” Santana’s gripe rises up from the floor where she’s stretched out perpendicular to the sofa, her pillow propped against its base just below where Quinn is shifting around in irritation. 

"Tell me again why I'm lying on a floor listening to Berry's chillingly accurate squeak toy impression, when I could be in a perfectly good bed at a hotel?" 

"She insisted we stay with her." Quinn's voice is flat and resigned, sighing the words out. 

"Yeah, but why insist we stay then turn around and scarf on beef-candy in there when we’re _right here_?" Quinn rolls her eyes, she's not quite certain exactly what it is Santana's trying to imply, but she's positive it's stupid. 

" _Oh God! Brody, **yes**!" _ They can tell Rachel's at least _somewhat_ trying to muffle the sounds, but she's still failing fantastically. Santana holds her hand up in a vague ' _case in point_ ' gesture towards the theatrics. 

"All I'm sayin' is, something don't add up here." 

Quinn scoffs and covers her face with her hands, shaking her head. Rachel moans softly, holding the faint note for a long moment that feels like it resonates through Quinn's ribcage. She drops her hands to her sides again and sighs. 

"Yeah, y'know what doesn't add up?” Quinn's tone is cool and wry. "She's in there having what sounds like perfectly decent sex, and I'm out here laying celibate next to _you_." 

Santana waits a beat before answering, her smile wrapped around the words and making it impossible not to feel the teasing lilt. 

"Don't have to be." 

"Sorry,  'Tana..." It's abstractly funny to Quinn how easily the nickname rolls off her tongue. "I love you but I have standards." 

"I would like to remind you that I was there for that song earlier, and I can say with authority that what you _have_ is lady-wood for Berry." 

"My psych professor calls that 'projecting,' dear." 

Santana snorts a non-verbal reply and they don’t speak for several minutes, each trying to avoid visualizing the entirely _not_ covert sex that is somehow still not over yet. It's far from an unappealing image, but still. How did Kurt manage this all the time? _Awkward_. 

“Hey, Q?” The detached words rise up from the floor a couple minutes later. 

“Mm?” 

“You _do_ remember that you slapped me first, don't you?” 

Delicate blonde brows furrow in confusion at the randomness and Quinn rolls to her side so she can see Santana on the floor beside her, the brunette not looking up. When she finally answers, suspicion colors her tone. 

“Of course I do, it was barely two months ago.” 

Santana tilts her chin up until she’s looking at Quinn's profile above her, their faces only a few inches apart. 

“If you'll admit you started it, why exactly would you think _I_ would apologize?” 

The smile that dawns on Quinn's lips is positively self-indulgent. 

"Because _you're_ the one who's wrong." 

_"Fuck, you're tight_..." Brody's voice is abrasive and jarring in its low rumble, especially after all of Rachel's high-pitched whimpers. Santana actually hears it when Quinn swallows heavily, and she smirks to herself. 

"No, _that's_ wrong." 

Quinn grunts her agreement without offering anything further, but her breath has quickened just a bit and Santana's definitely paying attention. 

"Wondering how tight she is?" She whispers up at the blonde, hoping to capitalize on shock value and not waiting for the inevitable outraged denial before she continues. "Finn ain't gifted, and she's so freakishly tiny... can you _imagine_?" 

Subtly adding to the spell that Santana is—as of this moment—now fully committed to, she lets her fingers pull up the hem of her tank-top in the course of stroking lazy designs over her lower belly. Her smile is wicked when, at the top edge of her vision, she catches Quinn licking her lips unconsciously. _Boo-yah, there it is._  

They've always had this unacknowledged kind of sexual tension between them, but ever since Thanksgiving Santana's noticed there's something extra to it. Something went down at Quinn's 'clambake' (Santana still isn't sure if that's a euphemism) and she returned from her first semester of college a little cocky and a lot more 'into that' than she'd been a couple years ago. 

Santana’s been enjoying her experiment with how far Quinn's willing to take it, even with the knowledge that she might end up being the experiment, herself. _Thank you for providing treatment one of the Fabgay experiments, Hobbit_. 

"My radar for this is never wrong, I guarantee you Berry’s so tight she could break your fingers when she comes." Santana husks the words, adding a layer of sultriness that should've seemed unnatural but instead seems to wash over Quinn at just the right temperature. 

"Have you ever thought about it, Quinn?" Santana lets the question hang for just a beat, slowly dragging her tongue over her lower lip to set the hook before she continues. "Kissing Rachel? Tasting her flavor, shutting up that sexy mouth...  seems like it'd be satisfying on more than one level." 

She's keeping her tone deliberately light and smoky, doing her best to hypnotize the blonde stretched out on the sofa. 

"Maybe I have..." The growl surprises Santana, that much she'll freely admit. Exactly how much hearing it from Quinn makes her wet is a tidbit she's more discreet with. "You're not seriously trying to say you haven't?" The dry confidence in her tone almost makes Santana feel sheepish. Almost. 

"In theory." The brunette quips, quoting herself from earlier in the evening. She doesn't fail to notice that her friend's lips are parted and she's breathing through her mouth, eyes a little shiny as they’re fixed on Santana's hand trailing up her own abdomen and between her breasts, the tank-top bunching under her arms at the sides. 

" _Ungh, yes...fuck me..."_ It barely carries through on a gasp; airy and desperate, the plea ripples through both of them with breathless scalding heat. Santana finds herself suddenly very bored with  waiting for the effects of this murky game. She pushes her hand into her shorts with a quick inhale the next moment, tossing her head to the side and letting her knees fall open. _Fabgay treatment two, in effect._  

"Oh my god." 

Quinn groans the exclamation as she rolls onto her back and forces her gaze to the ceiling, away from the tantalizing length of Santana's legs and what her hand is doing between them. Teeth digging into her own lip, the blonde twists her fingers into the fabric of her tee where it covers her belly. 

Quinn's not quite sure what to make of-of _anything_ at the moment, but the combination of Santana's hot breath puffing up at her and the sound of Rachel's pleasure are making her question her own resistance. 

Santana, sensing Quinn's precipice of indecision, shifts herself into a half-sitting position against the front of the couch and turns her head so she can whisper directly into the blonde's ear. 

"Is it too much for you, Q? Hearing her like that when it's not _you_ making her come?" 

Quinn inhales sharply, eyes clenched closed and brows drawn tightly together in a tortured expression, but doesn't respond. 

"C'mon, Quinn... think about it." Santana's voice rasps over her nerve endings, rippling goosebumps down her limbs and pooling in her lower belly. "Rachel in one of her stupid short plaid skirts, nothing underneath. She's got her knee socks on and her shirt all unbuttoned, and you can see her pretty little tits bouncing while you finger her." 

Quinn whimpers and Santana smirks, nodding absently in encouragement when she sees the blonde's hand release the shirt she’s clenching and start to slide down her belly towards her pajama pants. 

"That's a good girl..." Santana purrs, nuzzling her nose over the shell of Quinn's ear while her fingers  start stroking between her own thighs with more purpose. "Can you see her? Lying back in her ridiculously pink bed, her knees pressed against your hips with those fucking socks still on, skirt pushed up to her waist so you can look down and watch your own fingers disappear inside her." 

"I'd tease her." Quinn's voice is a croak, roughly grating out of vocal chords gone dry. "I want to suck her off my fingers." 

Santana hisses out a ' _yesss,'_ letting her fingers dip inside herself at the words. 

"Make her ask _nicely_ —" Quinn gasps at the surge of her hips with the thought, "for my mouth." 

" _Ungh_ —fuck, Q." Santana grunts and Quinn pries her eyelids open to watch her friend next to her, her own hand speeding up unwittingly at the sight. The brunette’s body is all sensual lines and Quinn feels the lust she’s been harboring recently burn hotter in her belly. "Th-then make her watch when you tongue-fuck her..." Santana's starting to pant and lose her words as her blood heats, the picture they're painting together pushing her toward delirious. 

"God, yes," She's never heard Quinn's voice drop that low and it vibrates electroshocks through Santana, tingling in her fingertips as they slide tight circles through slickness. "I want to make her moan... moan _my name—fuck._ " Quinn breaks into a choked moan of her own, the thought sharpening into a jagged bolt of arousal as soon as it strikes. 

"Mmmyeah, pulling at your hair... you know she'd be bucking all wild, too." Santana's not sure anymore whose benefit this is for, but it’s hot and she's never been one to question an orgasm, so. 

"She'll be _begging_ before I let her come." The growl is pushed out through Quinn's clenched teeth and Santana shivers at the promise. 

They drift into a humid almost silence, listening to each other's heavy breathing and occasional escaped whimpers, while Rachel and Brody seem to be speeding up their alternating hissed and trilled ' _yes_ 's. 

_"I'm gonna... Oh! I'm—"_ Rachel's yelp is cut off by a muffled scream and some shushed corner of Santana's brain is actually a little impressed by Brody's staying power. The rest of her is zeroed-in on how Quinn just sucked in a breath she still hasn't released, hips lifting erratically against the motion of her hand. 

Quinn gasps and holds it again, her face turning toward Santana with wild eyes and her lips parted in an airless moan. Santana feels a violent twist in her lower belly at the sight, Quinn is sex personified in this image. She leans just that last bit closer and brushes her nose against Quinn's. 

"Sounds delicious, doesn't she?" Quinn inhales the words as they fall from Santana's lips onto her own. When she drags her tongue in their wake and tastes Santana's lipstick, she finds herself nodding without realizing it. 

"Wanna come for her, Q?" She brushes her tongue over Quinn's lip, nuzzling their noses again before pressing her forehead to the blonde's and shivering under her own fingers. " _Fuck,_ I'm almost..." 

The words trail off but Quinn follows anyway, nodding with a pained look on her face before smashing their mouths together and sucking Santana's full lower lip between her teeth. She bites down on it when her orgasm hits a half-second later, and Santana hisses at the sharp sensation but doesn’t pull away, greedily taking in every twitch and jerk of the blonde’s pleasure and letting it push her that last stretch. 

Santana moans deep and unrestrained when she comes, and despite her attempts, Quinn's not able to swallow the sound. It seems to echo in the loft, each ripple illustrating over again how starkly different it is from Brody and Rachel's song. 

Everyone awake in the loft freezes, it's suddenly quiet enough that a car alarm can be heard faintly going off down the street. 

The prickly hiss of whispers they can't make out filters through the curtain-wall a moment later, and Quinn fights valiantly against the inappropriate laughter bubbling up her throat. It loses strength when she feels slender fingers wrap around her wrist and pull her hand away from her shorts, drawing it to Santana's mouth. 

Then Quinn's just holding her breath at the hot silky suction surrounding her fingers, strikingly similar to the wet warmth they were just pulled from. She instantly finds herself wondering how much more they could get away with before Rachel would come to investigate. An unintentional grunt escapes her throat at the idea and Santana slides Quinn's fingers out of her mouth with a slick 'pop,' a smug grin on her face as she licks her lips. 

"Apology accepted." Santana whispers before kissing Quinn's cheek and scooting back down to stretch out on the floor with a satisfied sigh. 


End file.
